


Trust in the Dagger

by flowerheadfreak



Series: The Gift of Magic [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:59:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerheadfreak/pseuds/flowerheadfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When assassins and Grey Wardens collide.<br/>(The Warden meets Zevran for the first time.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust in the Dagger

The blond human pleaded, her blue puppy dog-like eyes not wavering from Arabelle's.  There was certainly something amiss, the elf thought to herself.  There was no way this woman could have gotten attacked by bandits, bandits are too loud, too greedy, and they do not let women out of their grasp...especially soft-looking blond ones who can be easily overpowered.

"Calm down, I'll help, just tell me where they are," Arabelle breathed out slowly with a tiny hint of mistrust.

No no no, there must be some reason why this woman is special.  Maybe they were too busy with the treaures in her caravan?  Maybe she escaped while they were running their blades through her friends' bodies?

Nevertheless, however useless this woman may be for her friends, she needed help, and Arabelle is a Grey Warden.

Grey Warden plus useless maiden in distress equals useless maiden and others being saved.  Such as the way equations now work these days.

The womans eyes sparkled cheerfully at Arabelle's promise.

"Oh, thank you! Follow me!" she said, whirling around and running towards the direction of the bandits.

Arabelle sucked in a deep, irritated breath and tried to follow.  Stupid human girl, she's supposed to stay behind them, hovering behind Alistair's broad protective back, trying to stay safe.

_Useless!_

This woman was either extremely versatile in escaping bandits (which she highly doubted) or just _highly_ stupid.  Perhaps the blond jokes she's been hearing since the day she got out of the tower were true?

No, something had to be wrong, but Arabelle knew that this situation needed to be dealt with sooner or later.

Taking a turn through the dirt path, Arabelle finally caught up to the girl, she saw her bowing her head slightly at a cocky looking elven man before he turned his attentions towards the small mage and her companions.

_A servant maybe? No doubt he must've bedded her more than once, otherwise he wouldn't be smirking like-waitaminute..servants don't have-_

"Holy Mother of the Chantry!" Arabelle gasped, comprehension reaching her brain. Assassins.  And more of them were closing in on her from the shadows.

"The Grey Wardens die here!"

She groaned, this happening way too often than it should.

 

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*

"Wow, that was incredibly easy," Arabelle said as she stabbed the end of her staff into a fallen assassin's chest, then wiped any blood from it onto his tunic.

"I just knew this was a trap...-Uh, Arabelle? I think that assassin leader is still...alive," Alistair said, looking uneasily at the blond elf man that was sprawled all over the grassy floor.

"That can be easily rectified..." Sten murmered, unsheathing his sword.

"Wait wait wait!" Arabelle put her hand on the hilt of Sten's raised sword, pushing it away. "Excuse me, but I really want to know who hired this failure of a man, so if you please lower your sword, that would be very helpful."

"He tried to kill you, that's all that is necessary to know," Sten argued.

Arabelle sighed "...I will buy you a basket full of cookies if you stay calm and _not_ kill anyone."

Sten let out a low growl at the mysterious assassin elf, but re-sheathed his sword. Releasing a soft breath of relief, she turned towards the elf man. Cookies can solve anything.

"Hey...hey you.  Wake up," she said casually, nudging the elf's head with the non-pointy end of her staff.  To her, there are other uses for a staff other than just spellcasting.

"Mmm," the man groaned, no longer unconscious, his expression pained.  His eyes fluttered open slowly, seemingly not seeing anything, completely delirious until his eyes focused on Arabelle's face.

She resisted pelting him with too many questions; she very much wanted to arrive at Redcliffe within a few hours.  Crossing her arms with an agitated look on her face, she opened her mouth to speak.

"Before I kill you," she began coldly "I'd like to know the name of the person who hired you to kill me."

His eyes widened slightly...fear perhaps? No, not fear, _awareness_. He smiled courteously and said "You wish to know the name of the man who hired me, yet if I tell you I get nothing in return.  Perhaps we can...wager here, yes?"

She considered for a moment but frowned, she didn't _have_ to know who hired him, and maybe she wanted the satisfaction of killing the man who was ruining her day.  Not usually her mentality, but one less assassin can't hurt anybody.

Oh, the irony.

"On second thought…I-I guess I'll just kill you, if you can't prove useful to me then..." she paused abruptly, the threat of dishonor pulsing through her mind.  Frustration started to boil in her veins. She couldn't bring herself to kill this man, even if he did try to murder her.  Damned conscience.

"How in the world does Morrigan do it?" she whispered to herself, shaking her fist.

"Fine, I give up, your life for the name.  And don't get shifty because I can have my gigantic friend here rip your legs off."

She was bluffing of course, not even she wants to hear the piercing screams of pain ring in her pointed ears.

She shouldn't have however, for he seemed to catch her in her lie and smirked.  All the more reason to hate him.  She scowled.

"His name was something like...Loghain, I think..? Yes, that was his name."

"Loghain?" Alistair coughed in disbelief. "He really wants us dead!"

"That might have something to do with Ostagar," she smiled, letting the irony seep into her tone, and looking over her shoulder at Alistair briefly. "Well, you kept your end of the bargain so you're free to go, just don't try to kill me again…or the favor will be returned more efficiently.  Off you go." She motioned her hand at him, as if shooing him away.

"You can't just let him go, he tried to kill us!" Alistair started.

"I agree," Sten mumbled.

"What? No! We shouldn't commit such unnecessary slaughter, especially when she promised to let him go," Leliana snapped at them.

Turning around swiftly, she glared at all of them to shut them up.  The elf seemed unaffected by Alistair and Sten's implied suggestions and said confidently "Here's the thing, I work for the Crows, and if I go back they'll know I've failed and they'll kill me, but I happen to like living, so-"

"What are you getting at?" she asked suspiciously, hoping he wasn't offering what she thought he was.

"So," he repeated, stretching the word a bit, "Maybe I can be of service to you instead."

She shook her head in disbelief, mouth agape.  _Of course_.

"Do I look incredibly stupid to you? What's to stop you from finishing the job, _assassin_?" she practically spat out the last word, mocking his miserable failure in his pathetic attempt to kill her.

"Zevran, Zev to my friends of course," he corrected casually, “You seem like a bright girl, and utterly gorgeous if I say so myself.  I am an expert in many things."

"Not including assassinating, right?" she said sarcastically, raising her brow.  He pounded his hand on his armored chest good-humoredly.

"You wound me with your insults!  I expected a different level of hospitality and kindness from you Grey Wardens."

She rolled her eyes and chuckled without humor.  She was not about to be guilted into letting this man join them.

"So what exactly _are_ you useful for?"

"Well, many things, I can protect you, not that you seem to need it, I can make poisons and I could make an excellent locksmith. Shine your shoes, perhaps? ...Warm your bed? Fend off unwanted suitors, no?" he winked at her, watching for her reaction. Surprise bolted through her mind and was quite clear on her face when she took a step back.  It caught her off guard, sure, but her lips twitched upward.  This man was _begging _to die.

"You are a very funny man, but let's not joke around when your life might be at stake."

"Aha! I like a challenging woman, I really do.  So what is to be done with me?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, looking for any signs of deceit.  All she saw was a flirtatious wiggle of his eyebrows after he mirrored her staring, clean of any lies.

"Very well," she sighed, deciding to take the chance.  To throw a rogue away was very wasteful, she reasoned.  And she'd been itching for a reason to get away from Leliana on their adventures, after she'd given Arabelle the impression that she sought something more than just friendship, which was flattering but terribly uncomfortable.

"What?! You aren't serious, are you? An assassin?" Alistair began, obviously disapproving of her decision.

"Don't you start, Alistair.  It's been a long day and I just want to get to Redcliffe."

Leliana whipped out bandages cooperatively and gave them to Arabelle.  She was no healer, but she did know the basics.

"We should get underway before anymore 'bandits' show up," Leliana suggested, shooting a glare at Alistair to shush his protests.

"Okay," Arabelle agreed, still tending Zevran's wounds without actually touching him. "There, just let me know if you have any more boo-boos you need me to help you out with."

Helping him up, he boldly murmered in her ear, "I hereby swear my oath to you, my dear Grey Warden."

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

"Quit looking at me, assassin, I just want to be alone," Arabelle said, not quite unkind, but not quite polite either.  She had deliberately distanced herself from him because of the discomfort it brought her whenever he was nearby, but now he had almost closed the large gap between them while they journeyed through the Hinterlands.

"Still upset? I thought that a powerful Grey Warden such as yourself would not hold on to such grudges," Zevran said, "Surely you can't take it so personally."

He was strolling beside her now, leaving behind the others who formed a cluster of three.  She preferred to walk alone at the time, enjoying the silence, but he was ruining that for her now as well.

"I s'pose you're right, I _never_ take it personally, especially after I kill them,” she said in a deadpan tone. Hearing him laugh, she asked, “Are you still bleeding somewhere? Is that why you're speaking with me?"

He chuckled again. "Do I need an excuse to talk to a stunning woman?"

Arabelle wanted to laugh, she'd always felt different from other Fereldans. She was the opposite to their pale skin, the contrast to their wonderfully light-colored eyes, even her nose was not straight nor pointed; it was small, button-like, like of that of a child.

"Yes, you do," she answered, visibly amused.  If he thought to win her over with flattery, he's got another thing coming.

"I might be wounded in a place or two, then."

She turned her head in confusion meeting his eyes for a second, until she realized his expression practically spelled out libidinous.

"Is it normal for you to flirt as often as you breathe?" she asked curiously, looking back at the others quietly wishing for their company now.

"As often as I see a pretty face that doesn't look too pleased, which I can help with in other ways than flattering words," he mused, winking at her again, she didn't take long to understand his innuendo.  Rubbing her temples in irritation she answered, "Maker, you just don't know when to quit."

He burst out laughing, throwing his head back in pleasure.

"I cannot _help_ it, I have been told I am utterly insufferable."

She snorted. That deserved the understatement of the year award.

"Yeah, I got that....We're going to set up camp now, it's getting dark and we're not going to make it to Redcliffe today."

She turned away from him and headed back to her other companions; again trying to distance herself from the man she considered quite the pest.

"Who will have the first watch?" Alistair asked her, eyeing Zevran in distrust. The purpose of watch had extended another reason to stay awake, it seemed.

Her arm flung in the air to volunteer herself. She didn't feel tired, and maybe she could actually enjoy the silence this time. She shot a glare at an unsuspecting Zevran, the silence better go uninterrupted.

As everyone curled up into their warm bedrolls, she drifted away in search of oils and herbs to make soap. Smelliness was not going to define her even in times like this.

"Wandering off the campsite? That can be very dangerous, my friend."

She jumped in surprise and whirled around to find none other than Zevran invading in her personal space..._again_.

Taking a step back to regain her bubble, Arabelle threatened in response, stabbing at his chest with her index finger. "Zevran, you scared the claptrap outta me, do it again and I'll light your pretty hair on fire."

"Why would you do such a thing? Can you really ruin something as sexy as this?" he joked, running both hands in the golden goodness on his head.

"Yes ser, I swear to you, I will hit your weak spots," she said squinting crossly at him, referring to his constant fussing over his hair.

"Really now?" he mused, smirking, closing the gap between them again. He clearly didn't understand that what she meant was _not_ a flirtation. She didn’t answer; uneasiness squirmed in her stomach again. Why did he make her feel so squeamish? She passed him and made her way back to camp, desiring the company of her sleeping friends. Passed out as they were, there were safety in numbers.

"Is there a reason you are bugging me?" she asked quietly, slumping herself not too far from Sten's bedroll. He pulled out a dagger from his boot and held up his hand to halt her from shooting him with lightning bolts.

"What sort of sick joke are you playing?" she mumbled nervously, inching slowly toward her giant.

"It is just a gift, no need for you to be afraid," he answered, smiling at her.  Her face scrunched up in protest.

"I am _not_ afraid!" she whispered angrily, clearly offended, "One can never tell with your sort, y'know."

"Ah, there is nothing to be afraid of, my dear Warden.  I am a man of my word," he said proudly, “I noticed that you don't have a weapon prepared other than your staff.  As funny as it is to see you whack our attackers about as if it were a club, I believe you need something a little more close-range."

He held out the dagger, the hilt of it pointing at her.  She looked at him suspiciously before she took it.

"Thank you, I guess. Wait. Why is the pointy end glowing?"

"That is poison."

"Suspicious," she replied, dropping the dagger, eyes accusing him of unthinkable crimes.

"Again with the paranoia? Do you not know how poison works?" he asked, annoyance touching his face briefly.

"Yes. Yes I do," she replied just as annoyed.  "Where else do you have poison stashed away?"

"Can you not accept such a simple gift? If you do not want it, you do not get it," he snapped, reaching for the dagger embedded in the dirt floor. 

"Wait," she stopped him, she thrust her hand on the blade before he could reach it. He was trying to be nice, she knew. "You're right, I'm sorry.  Look, it's just a little weird that you wanted to join us so quickly and sometimes I get overly mistrustful and you're a...well you know, an assassin and I need to save and protect Ferelden-" she took in a breath before she started babbling again "-so I can't afford to be killed, and I really am grateful for this poisoned dagger, it's kinda shiny…wanna be friends now?"

Her offer of friendship had slipped past her lips before she could even think about it. It made her feel like a girl of five again, asking people for friendship rather than gaining it wordlessly.  His lips curled upward, losing any sign of irritation.

"Friends? Well, I suppose there must be a start for everything," he said coyly, not allowing her to miss his meaning. She let out a quick sigh to regain her mature posture, not often did she reveal such a childish side with people she barely knew.

"Oh my goodness, stop with that,” she laughed quietly, “I'm going to relieve myself from watch, so goodnight..._Zev_."

She stood up rapidly, and left him before he could respond.  She felt his eyes on her while she woke Alistair from his slumber.

"What's that?" Alistair yawned sleepily, pointing at the silver blade she held loosely.

"A gift," Arabelle said fondly, finally letting go of her paranoia. She stuck the dagger in her boot like Zevran had before settling herself in her bedroll, and dozed off into a dreamless sleep. She had nothing to fear.

_Nothing to worry about, not at the moment, anyway._


End file.
